Camp 35
A most damnably dismal day. The sledges just sink in this soft snow. We spent three hours to put the 10-feet runners on under the crossbars. There was no delay on account of the slow progress of the other parties.
It wasn't much better after this; the toil was simply awful. We were soaked with perspiration and thoroughly breathless with our efforts. Again and again, the sledge got one runner on harder snow than the other, canted on its side, and refused to move. Evans was reduced to relay work, and Bowers followed him soon after.
We have advanced a bare 4 miles today. We are at 1500 feet; I had pinned my faith on getting better conditions as we rose, but it looks as though things are getting worse instead of better. We can toil on but it is woefully disheartening. I am not at all hungry but pretty thirsty. I find our summit ration is too filling for the present. Two skuas came round camp at lunch, no doubt attracted by our Shambles camp (and all the blood there).
Oh for a beer.
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